


Of Bats and Family

by ToMarsAndBeyond3



Series: Weekend in The Woods [2]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Is this even in character?, Martin is recovering, Not my best work but it's all you got right now, Slice of Life, i don't really care, i wanted to write it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:58:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToMarsAndBeyond3/pseuds/ToMarsAndBeyond3
Summary: Martin spends the day recovering from his gunshot wound, and Vogel decides that he wants to do something to make Martin feel better.





	Of Bats and Family

**Author's Note:**

> Eh. There's literally no way to tell if this is in character. Trust me. Martin is barely even 27 in this. Vogel is barely even 12. They are small.

Vogel was, at the moment, perched in a tree.

He really wasn't that high up, in all honestly. The branch on which he was currently balancing was about a foot over Martin's head; Martin wasn't that tall, so he would probably be okay if he fell.

Alright, that was a lie. Vogel knew that Martin was the tallest out of all them, so in reality he was probably pretty high up.

He wouldn't get hurt, though. He was sure of it.

From his current position, it would have been impossible to spot the boy from the camp. If you were to stand on the ground next to the fire at your tallest, you still would not have been able to get the right angle to spot Vogel.

Not unless you were Martin.

Martin wasn't much for standing ever since he'd gotten hurt, though; Cross wouldn't allow it. So Vogel was safe for now.

Safe from what, though?

Sometimes, he felt like a bird. Climbing the trees, flying through the air (like a monkey, mind you), sleeping in a nest of his own devise... It was actually rather enjoyable. He could do anything, be anywhere.

The smallest, nimble little Rowdy. Up to his own little mischief.

Vogel didn't like these moments of solitude. Out here, surrounded by sharp branches and wispy leaves in his face and tearing his shirt; out here, he felt exposed. Unprotected.

But the sight was familiar, he thought, in an unfamiliar sort of way.

Once, when Cross had been bandaging a cut on Vogel's arm, he had mentioned something that reminded Vogel heavily of this strange, leafy phenomenon.

"Lucky you ducked, Birdy. Muscle memory must still be pretty good," Cross had said, pulling the bandage tight around Vogel's arm. He'd winched.

"Huh?" Vogel looked up, his eyes wide, taken aback by this new vocabulary word. Cross was always doing that, teaching him new words. He must have been a genius, Vogel had long since decided. They all were.

"Know how your head remembers stuff?"

Vogel nodded.

"It's sorta like that. But your body remembers it, yeah? Not your head. Like an invisible memory."

Vogel supposed, perched on his branch like the most energetic of birds, that his want to seeking out these moments of solitude could be attributed to those invisible memories that Cross has mentioned. He certainly didn't enjoy these moments, after all. But they were familiar; they brought up feelings and impulses that had become muddled with age.

Sometimes, when his surroundings got real quiet, he could almost see something in the back of his mind. He'd decided it was a woman, but he couldn't be sure. 

She looked very happy to see him.

The solitude reminded him of other things, too. These memories were much easier to recall. Cold, dark places, where the only company he had were the voices of his brothers through grates in the wall. Calculating scientists, smelling so strongly of fear when he talked to them that he became sick. Electricity. Pulsing through his body.

A lot of electricity.

Vogel screwed up his face, shaking his head to expel the thoughts from his mind. Those thoughts were boring to dwell on. And besides, Martin had said to stop worrying about it.

Martin was always right about these things.

Down on the campground below, he could see the other Rowdies at play. Cross and Grips were wrestling - quite literally - for control of the radio. It was playing old 80s rock at the moment, and Vogel found himself wondering why they would want to change it.

It made him twitch; he wanted to move, to dance. Staying still for so long was not the boy's forte.

Martin was over by the van. He leaned against the open van door, his eyes closed in a futile moment of peace. Cross had banned him from moving around too much while the gunshot wound healed. Cross was unnaturally talented at patching the different Rowdies up after they'd gotten hurt, and Vogel thought that he must have learned it from someone even smarter than Martin. Like those people he read about in books; the ones that wore white and healed people for money.

Cross could be one of those.

Martin had taken the order to rest to heart; it was probably the only time for the rest of his life that he would truly rest. He deserved it.

And so, he was having a moment of peace.

Martin's eyes opened, drawn out of his peaceful limbo by the lack of Vogel's voice. His gaze drifted over to where the young boy had been sitting earlier, but the spot was empty.

"Vogel?"

Cross and Gripps ceased their sparring at the sound of Martin's voice. They too had seemed to have taken notice that Vogel was gone. They stood up straight, their bodies rigid ad they tried to find the direction that Vogel's emotional scent was coming from.

"Rah!"

Vogel let out a scream as he jumped from his branch, taking this perfect opportunity to take his brothers by surprise. It worked better than he could have hoped. He landed on Cross's back, and he fell to the ground.

"I got you! I got you!" Vogel pumped his fist into the air, earning a victory cry from Gripps and Martin. Cross laughed.

"Better watch out, Cross. Kid'll be stronger than you in no time." Martin spoke from his spot hear the van's end, his voice deep and rumbling from lack of use in thr last twenty four hours. 

Cross waved dismissively, jumping to his feet.

"Nah. Little bird got lucky."

"Did not! I win!"

"Nope. Didn't happen."

Vogel puffed out his chest, crossing his arms. This earned another laugh from the older boys, this time accompanied by Cross running his hand through Vogel's hair.

"Don't worry, Birdy. You get stronger every day."

Cross made eye contact with Gripps, and the beanie-clad Rowdy nodded. He touched Vogel's shoulder, drawing his attention.

"Little man. Let's go and let Cross check on Martin, yeah?"

Vogel didn't protest as he was led away to the fire on the other side of the van, but he certainly wasn't giving off positive emotions. Martin was _hurt_ , and Vogel wanted to help. He didn't want Martin to somehow get even more injured.

Maybe he could do something to make him happy. He contemplated this and Gripps cleared a spot for him near the flames, but failed to find something that could truly make the oldest Rowdy happy.

He could get him a new jacket, but that meant that he needed to do one of two things. Both of those things were impossible for him.

He needed to either find someone _wearing_ a cool jacket, or find a store to smash. 

The van was broken, so there was no way to get anywhere. And besides, he couldn't drive.

Maybe he could get him a new bat? Martin loved new weapons, but there was nothing for miles around...

Vogel's head shot up.

"Yo. You okay?" Gripps squinted at Vogel, who had suddenly began to give off waves of excitement. The little boy's arms flapped around in joy.

"Bat!"

"Bat?"

Vogel grabbed Gripps by the arm, and began to pull him towards the van. 

"Bat!"

 

The top of the van was piled with boxes, containers, bags, and packages of every sort. Anything and everything that could ever be wanted was mostly likely here, and Vogel knew it. Thus, it was the perfect place to get what he needed.

He didn't need a lot, theoretically. He could clean the object himself, and them dry it off, and that would be most of the job done already. What he _didn't_ have, however, was tape.

It was rather important.

Gripps was stood on the ground, holding Vogel's bat in hand. The bat was old and battered, and coincidentally, one of Vogel's favorite of things to break stuff with. It was completely falling apart; the excitement from the day before had torn it up even more.

That wouldn't be a problem soon.

Over on the other side of the van, Cross and Martin hadn't a clue what was transpiring.

Sure, they could feel the emotions bouncing off of Gripps and Vogel; without context though, it seemed like just another usual day.

Vogel exhaled, puffing out his chest in frustration. He hit the top of the van.

"Try my green box, man."

"Green?"

"That's what I said."

Vogel looked down, frowning. The packages around him were all sorts of colors, but he'd yet to see a green one.

No. Wait. There it was. Vogel saw a dark shade of green peeking out from under a bag. Pushing the bag aside, he pulled out a decent-sized green box. It was clasped shut, but it wasn't locked. Vogel flipped up the golden clasps and the lid came open.

The inside of the box was filled with bright colors. There were about ten different shades of nail polish, along with colorful bandaids that were kept spare. Next to those were small, miniature rolls of tape.

Vogel grabbed the black roll to match the color of the bat, and slammed the lid shut. He waved it in the air at Gripps.

Vogel paused then, glancing over the other edge.

Martin was tapping out a drumbeat, occupying himself and Cross tried to find the bandages in the front seat. They looked rather occupied.

The boy smiled.

Vogel slid off the top of the van, landing on all four next to Gripps. Gripps instinctively reached out to steady him, but Vogel was already off; he'd snagged the bat from Gripps' hand, and had run off into the woods without a second thought.

Gripps made a sound of surprise. Vogel was getting fast.

He sighed, trudging out to find where he's run off to.

Out in the forest, Vogel had found a massive tree; this forest had obviously been left alone for quite some time. He threw himself onto the ground next to it, and pulled out the tape. Gripps stumbled into Vogel's spot as the child got to work.

He smiled.

 

Martin had his eyes closed. It was getting difficult to keep tapping; his mind was too occupied. He'd heard Vogel run into the treeline an hour ago, and he still hadn't come back.

Worry was worming its way through his stomach.

There wasn't any reason to worry, though. There couldn't have been. Gripps was there to keep him safe. It was all okay.

Except for when it wasn't.

Vogel was a _child_. He still had waking nightmares over Blackwing for Christ's Sake. Not that Martin blamed him; he had nightmares about them too from time to time. Vogel's bad dreams were usually about the things Blackwing did to him, though. Martin's were about what would happen if Blackwing found the others.

He'd keep them safe.

Martin took a sharp breath.

"Ah- shit, Cross."

Cross looked up at Martin, shrugging. He didn't stop wrapping the clean bandages around Martin's torso, though.

"Not the one who got shot, man. Just tryin' to help ya out."

"Don't mean I can't still complain."

Cross rolled his eyes, pulling the bandage taunt and severing it. He held it there, getting the tape and stretching it over the thin gauze.

"See? Ain't worth worrying over."

Martin pulled down his shirt, nodding thanks to his brother. The music coming out of the can had changed now, and the 80s rock had been replaced with what sounded like a mind numbing drum solo. It was nice; it made Martin want to break something. 

But he still wasn't permitted to move.

He sighed, leaning against the van with a defeated groan.

Cross pulled himself into the open van, sitting on the edge next to Martin. He grabbed the crowbar to twirl around.

"Think they're still alive?"

Cross eyed the oldest Rowdy. He could smell the concern in his stomach, and he hadn't missed the way his eyes kept flitting to the treeline. He wasn't an idiot. Martin just shrugged.

"Vogel's happy. Probably breaking something."

"Good for him. Little guy's got a lot of talent."

They grinned at each other. They tried their best with Vogel; it wasn't easy to raise a small boy while on the run from a fucked up government agency. That is, if they were still even tracking them.

Martin had begun to have his doubts about that, and it was the best feeling he'd had in his life.

His brothers might just be safe.

A small figure jumped out of the treeline, followed closely by a much taller one. Vogel sprinted over to where Martin was, and held out his bat proudly in front of him.

Martin chuckled.

"Hey kid. Fix your bat?"

Vogel nodded, grinning triumphantly. The bat was indeed in better shape. Someone, probably Vogel, had gone over it with water, and the grip had been replaced with brand new tape. It looked classy, strong. 

It was the perfect sort of weapon for a Rowdy.

Martin returned Vogel's smile.

"You did a good job. No one liked a broken weapon."

Martin could smell something else coming of Vogel than his usual elation. There, just barely noticeable, a touch if frustration had appeared. Martin raised an eyebrow.

"You got something else, Vogel?"

Vogel shook his head, again holding the bat out to Martin. Behind his eyes, you could see the wheels start to turn as they clicked into place. His smile softened.

It was a smile that was only ever reserved for special occasions with his brothers.

Martin reached out, taking the bat in his hands. Vogel's joy board as Martin weighed it, basking the other three Rowdies in his rather unusually childlike joy.

Vogel pulled at his sleeve.

"Looks great, Kid. Can't wait to use it."

Then he glanced at the radio, which had moved on already to the next song.

"Looks like Vogel's picking the music tonight, boys."


End file.
